Genuine
by Lemontention
Summary: But he knows, as a tropical bird lands on his windowsill with a note from Sirius, that he would rather have what happened happen again and again if it means his smile will stay genuine.


Is it irony that his world crumbles on All Saint's Day?

Does the date even matter?

He doesn't think so. Everything he knows and loves is gone; his world is shattered china. Three of his friends are dead. His other friend might as well be dead.

He doesn't take this news well, though one would never know. He's the master of calm, cool, and collected. He never raises his voice, he never clucks his tongue, he never cries. He's lived his entire life with a placating smile, and even when all he loves has turned to dust, he can't frown. At least his smile is remorseful.

He sticks around for a short while, attends the funerals, gives Mrs. Pettigrew consoling words with that same sad smile he had when he received the news. Like many others, he scorns Petunia and her husband for not showing to Lily's funeral. Doesn't Harry, even if he won't remember the day, deserve to be there for his parents? But once the funerals have passed, and the world continues to rotate, he finds there is no place left for him. He packs his meager things and takes flight.

Even as he travels, from Liverpool to Aberdeen, he keeps up with the news. He gives a few sickles to the owls and reads the headlines: **Sirius Black admits betrayal! Friends never knew! **It's true of course; he couldn't believe it at first but it makes sense. His blood is Black no matter what.

It's always Sirius Black. Some days it's about the debate in the ministry; should the traitor get a trial? Other days it's about the horrid past of the traitor. He can only read a few paragraphs into these articles before he tosses them into the fire. That said, he still pays for the _Prophet_ and still reads those few paragraphs.

Days turn to weeks, weeks melt into months, and eventually the months give way to years. The traitor is where he belongs, but his world is still nothing.

Work is hard to come by. It always had been and always will be; social attitudes don't change no matter what happens, even if a war is won. He supposes he just forgot how hard things were, how necessary work and money was. He had friends willing to support him but now he has none and it's hard.

Eventually he is able to push it all away; the pain and the sorrow. He's able to fall into a numbness, a familiar one he once wore like a cardigan. He tells himself he was lucky to have what he had, that it had always been destined to fail, and that he should be happy for what he had. He accepts this and lives with this because that is all he can do.

Then it hits.

The wound is torn open. He's bleeding and crying inside and it's all because the traitor, _that bastard_, can't even have the decency to stay behind locked iron bars. The Ministry is stumped. How, they are wondering. He is so tempted to take what he knows, and he knows how the traitor escaped, to the Ministry.

But he doesn't.

He can't.

He wants to, he really does, but he doesn't. He's not a traitor. It's a secret and he doesn't spill secrets. Maybe he's an idiot, but he won't choose to be anything like the traitor. Spilling secrets is what the traitor did and he won't do that.

Everywhere he goes though, he sees it – him. He knows it's not real; he's hallucinating – hoping and wishing for something that can never be. Never ever.

He knows he's slipping, falling into madness. His carefully constructed world has been hit with a bulldozer and now it's nothing but rubble. The flood gates have broken, the the dam is spilling. He feels it all again; the pain, the grief, the misery.

So he goes to the only man who can help.

The wizened old wizard gives him a long, hard look before he speaks. "The years have been rough, my friend." Perhaps if he was younger, still a Marauder, he would point out the obvious. But he's not anymore, he can't be.

"Yes sir."

Albus gives him a small smile; one he instantly recognizes. Pitying. "You know, I have a position open here at Hogwarts, Defense Against the Dark Arts actually. Didn't you always get top marks in that class?" When the old wizard gets no response, he softly shakes his head. "Harry will be here, third year." There's more to his words, a hint of something dark as night that he doesn't even want to give a name, but he chooses to ignore it and takes the job.

Ms. McGonagall – no, Minerva – smiles at him fondly when she catches him setting up his office on an exceptionally hot August day. She recounts to him tales of his youth, when he was a prankster first and foremost, with a nostalgic smile. He can't help but feel nostalgic with her; thinking about the days where he was happy and his smile was genuine.

While he spends most of his summer familiarizing himself with the halls of his old home, it's not as happy as he wishes it was. He finds his favorite secret passage, one behind a mirror, has caved in. The stone is a reminder to him; that the past has past and it is never coming back.

He spends the days, and full moon, before the start of his new career in his old cottage. The furniture is dusty, the rooms cramped. He finds himself yearning not only for the freedom of the halls of Hogwarts, but the freedom of his youth. He hates that. Twelve years he didn't care but as soon as the traitor makes headlines again, he's falling; spiraling into darkness.

Perhaps, with this mental state, it wasn't a good idea to ride the Hogwarts Express. He is tired though, and feeling incredibly nostalgic. He doesn't regret it in the end; he catches a glimpse of Harry – the son of his greatest friends. He _saves _Harry. He is disgusted with the Ministry for sending dark creatures like Dementors onto a train full of kids but then he remembers, and he doesn't know how he forgot, that he is a dark creature too.

The year passes relatively slowly. He spends his time drafting lesson plans, grading essays that range from terrible to outstanding (often times the former, unless they're Ravenclaw assignments), and dreading the waning and waxing of the moon. Occasionally there is a spot of excitement, Si- the traitor, but those spots pass into his endless misery of an existence.

Then it happens. Fate, he supposes. The map, which in his youth he spent many hours poring over, reveals to him both the traitor and a dead man. His world isn't a spinning – it should be. Instead a calm settles over him as he strides across the grounds to be the hero.

He both regrets and loves his decision. His friend, his greatest who was never James or Lily but Sirius, is innocent; not a traitor. On the other hand, he lets that rat that is the real traitor slip through his fingers, he nearly kills everyone he cares about, and he can no longer be a teacher at Hogwarts (Albus says otherwise, but he's not stupid). It is hard to say what his feelings are towards the events that took place so all he does is smile a not fake smile.

But he knows, as a tropical bird lands on his windowsill with a note from Sirius, that he would rather have what happened happen again and again if it means his smile will stay genuine.


End file.
